


Knowing gets you Knowhere.

by Bitsy



Series: The Wives [1]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: I love backstory drabbles, Pre-Canon, fight me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:39:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4808270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitsy/pseuds/Bitsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am on tumblr at <a href="http://bitsyfic.tumblr.com">Bitsyfic</a></p></blockquote>





	Knowing gets you Knowhere.

Toast the Knowing earned her name. Picked it herself. Took pride in it. She wasn’t just the sum of her body parts, she _knew_ things. She knew, for example, how the Immortan channeled the water from the spring to the spigot. She knew, for example, that the Immortan’s sons were doomed to an early grave, genetics having their last laugh. She knew, for example, that certain plants needed certain nutrients to germinate, and that those nutrients came from the digestive processes of certain animals.

Toast the Knowing was the first and only voice in the Citadel to call for the nurturing of livestock. If any could be found. It said so, right here in this book. Cows would be ideal, but failing that, a sheep or a horse would suffice.

Go on, Toast. Find a horse out there. Good fucking luck!

She grimaced as the hydroponics were installed, because it wasn’t right, wasn’t natural. Soil was needed, not water and sand and hydrogen fuel. It worked, but the seedlings were anemic. Just like most of the War Boys, frankly.

It was hell, knowing the things that shouldn’t be known, knowing the knowledge that nobody else cared to find. It was hell, finding the right books in amongst the dreck. Sure, the plays of William Shakespeare were valuable. But wasn’t a text by George Washington Carver even _more_ valuable? Human condition versus human survival and genetic manipulation. _Fuck_ Shakespeare, he was a crazy old smeg, far too preoccupied with murder. There was enough murder these days, they didn’t need old Willy’s help.

Cooking, now. Cooking was where she shined. The chemistry of food was her ultimate forté, and she jealously horded her recipes. She knew how to find good meat, good vegetables. Their cell in the Citadel was sacrosanct, but she knew how to ask for the right ingredients. Knew how to balance a meal. Most days would find her over a hot stove, simmering pots of broth and stew and stock and rue. She would feed her sisters with a feast, or at least what any other Citadel dweller would call a feast. Rich, tasty calories, intended to sustain body and mind. Protein and carbohydrates and roughage, all in equal balance.

And if a War Boy was good, he could rely on Toast’s beans and rice bowl, spiced to perfection, salted with the desert expanses. 

But the Wives ate like royalty every day, thanks to Toast the Knowing.

**Author's Note:**

> I am on tumblr at [Bitsyfic](http://bitsyfic.tumblr.com)


End file.
